


I Love You Forte

by adrift_me



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Classical Music, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, No period-typical homophobia, Piano, Romance, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 15:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10721886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: It’s through music, Credence realises, that Mr. Graves expresses his passion. Only through legato and sudden fortissimo can he say what busies his heart. And Credence listens carefully, needing no words. Whatever Mr. Graves is saying, it’s honourable and honest.





	I Love You Forte

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an ardent piano player and I was exhilarated by such a wonderful prompt - period au + piano playing. It was written while listening to [this beautiful piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E6b3swbnWg), so tune in if you'd like some appropriate background.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://accio-toffy.tumblr.com/), I'd love to meet you there. And I take prompts!  
> 

Young Credence Barebone is about to begin undressing for sleep when he hears it. A sweet gentle sound of a piano forte. It’s immensely soft, and although he can only hear the  _ forte _ of the piece, he knows that if he were to go downstairs and investigate, music will sound as sweet as he imagines with all its  _ dolce _ and  _ leggiero _ .

Unable to resist, young Barebone leaves his room and follows the sound of the instrument.

The estate is vast and in the few days he’s been staying there by Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski’s invitation, he still can’t find his way around easily. There are bedrooms, and walkway halls, and studies, and a spacious library with endless shelves of books. All the rooms are of an exquisite taste in decoration, comfortable and appealing. Yet no piano forte is to be found in them, nor any mysterious musician with fingers that run the keys with particular delicacy and skill.

As Credence walks through the halls, he contemplates on who the musician might be. The two sisters, Mrs. Kowalski and Miss Goldstein are accomplished talented ladies who are most certainly skilled in the matters of music. But it is a widespread knowledge that Miss Goldstein prefers a harp while Mrs. Kowalski sings. 

Mr. Kowalski possesses no music talent, nor does his close friend Mr. Scamander. It leaves out a solemn and reserved Mr. Graves who Credence simply can’t imagine being a pianist. He has never expressed passion and has always been a calm man of a formal tone, almost strict. And much to Credence’s dismay it is a set of these inexpressive qualities which drew his attention towards the man in the first place. Not only has he expressed genuine, though taciturn, concern for his well-being during their brief encounters, not only has he graced Credence with a dance at the assembly but a month ago, he has become an object of Credence’s infatuation ever since.

Every following meeting is a step towards the inevitable. 

Music sounds louder now, a stream of notes jumping across the octaves, an almost dancing movement of a hand to a waltz-like rhythm. Credence can’t help but adapt his walk to the rhythm,  _ one-two-three _ , _ one-two-three _ .

The door of the music room is only slightly opened, but enough for Credence to see a bouquet of lit candleholders, a black back of a vest and the movement of white sleeves. His heart misses a beat as recognition dawns on him. It’s Mr. Graves, absorbed with music he is playing, merged with the instrument in a loving dance. Mr. Graves, whose heart Credence has been craving for for many a month. Mr. Graves who is oblivious to how much he is loved by his only secret listener.

The tune ends and the man starts over with the same one, which pleases Credence immensely. He quite likes its stretching overflows, and the way Mr. Graves leans into the instrument, his broad shoulders spread and his torso moving to the rhythm.

Careful to make no sound, Credence enters the room and stands behind the sofa, watching Mr. Graves play. The tune is gentle, romantic, a foreign matter coming from under Mr. Graves’ skillful fingers. They make no mistakes and they confidently guide the music. Credence is mesmerized, enthralled, he finds himself mirroring Mr. Graves’ movement because the tune demands it. His heart demands it equally strong.

When the tune ends again, Mr. Graves lowers his hands and contemplates. For Credence it’s a chance to retreat to where he can go on with his secret, put it in a corner of his mind where all good things about Mr. Graves are. But he doesn’t take this chance. Instead, he reaches out for another one, which consumes all of his bravery. He stays rooted to the spot behind the sofa, his eyes trained directly on Mr. Graves’ back.

Mr. Graves rises from the cushioned piano seat and turns around. He doesn’t jump up in surprise nor does he show any sign of being startled. He is smiling softly and his cheeks are tinted with red.

“Mr. Barebone,” he greets him softly. “I didn’t hear you enter, my apologies.”

“I didn’t know you can play.”

“It’s not a common knowledge. I do not often entertain my acquaintance with my playing, but I hope what you’ve heard did not offend your taste.”

“Offend! Sir, I have never heard anything quite so beautiful before.”

Credence blushes from the amount of pleasantries he has just blurted out. Mr. Graves, however, doesn’t seem to be bothered by this, on the contrary, he looks away with pleasure of compliments, his smile awkwardly happy. It puzzles Credence.

“Do  _ you _ play?”

“No, sir. My Mother never acquired an instrument. My sisters and I found enjoyment in other things, such as drawing, for instance.”

“Ah, this is a skill I do not possess.”

They stand looking at each other awkwardly, neither making a move for furthering the conversation or at least escaping the pause, hanging in the air. When they do speak, it’s in unison.

“Perhaps, you could draw--”

“Perhaps, you could play--”

They stop and laugh lightly. Credence falls silent, his lips pressed. Mr. Graves gestures for him to talk.

“Perhaps, you could play something else, Mr. Graves.”

“Is there anything particular you would like to hear?”

“Anything you prefer.”

“Very well, but I have one request. Do not consider it impudent, but would you sit by my side while I play?”

Credence stares at the man across the room. A request such as this and from Mr. Graves himself!

“I will need your help to turn the pages.”

Credence is flustered, but pleased to be invited in such a circle of intimacy. He walks towards the piano forte and joins Graves on the cushioned bench, their arms touching. Mr. Graves flips through a folder of sheet music and chooses one blindly, pulling it out from the stack and spreading it on the rack. Credence can’t help a burst of glee in his chest as Mr. Graves raises his hands over the keyboard and sinks long fingers in it. Credence watches those fingers move over the keys as if they are kissing the surface, light or deep. The sounds which those movements create are beautiful and passionate. He would gladly listen to them repeated many times, only to have an honour of sitting by Mr. Graves’ side and watching him play.

It’s through music, Credence realises, that Mr. Graves expresses his passion. Only through  _ legato _ and sudden  _ fortissimo _ can he say what busies his heart. And Credence listens carefully, needing no words. Whatever Mr. Graves is saying, it’s honourable and honest.

“Mr. Barebone, I would greatly appreciate you turning the page,” says Mr. Graves softly, his hands still sunk in the keyboard. Credence awakens from his enthrallment and reaches out for the sheet of paper when Mr. Graves’ hand stops him.  _ Oh _ .

“But I would enjoy a conversation as much as playing the instrument.”

Credence smiles. The tips of his fingers are trapped in Mr. Graves’ gentle hold and he relishes the warm feeling.

“We have shared quite a few moments since our first meeting,” Mr. Graves shakes his head a little, he looks nervous and Credence can’t blame him. He himself hears the mad beating of his heart in his chest and hopes it is not as loud as it seems. Mr. Graves rubs the top of his fingers and continues. “Mr. Barebone, put my mind to rest. I have struggled with my feelings, unsure if they are returned. Command me to go, and go I shall, but if there is a chance my feelings are returned…”

Credence stares at his hand in Mr. Graves’ hold and attempts to understand what he has just heard. It sounded sweeter than music, more gentle than a song of the piano forte. It came from Mr. Graves’ thin smiling mouth in a low quiet voice, trembling and eager.

“Mr. Graves…” he swallows. “Rest assured that this feeling is quite mutual.”

He brings his eyes up for a mere second, eager to know what eyes of a man in love might reflect. Mr. Graves’ eyes are dark and fixed on him with a most gentle expression, a most loving one. He feels a touch of Mr. Graves’ fingers on his chin and he cannot resist slowly leaning forward. Their lips meet in a brief sweet encounter, much like the very one that ignited this affair when they were introduced. As they pull away from each other, smiling and feeling dizzy, Credence braves another look at Mr. Graves. The man’s face is set in such an expression that leaves no doubts, only a promise.

“Shall I play for you now, my dear Mr. Barebone?”

“Please.”


End file.
